How to Stand, Just So
The messages had been coming in for a week now, three in a burst, once a day which was the protocol that had been established by people she could barely remember. Three people were allowed to see them, one of the operators who monitored the system around the clock, Abigail, the current commissioner of their community, and Scout, who didn’t necessarily want the job, but accepted it as she knew she was better at dealing with any issues the messages brought than almost anyone else. The operator, Marcus, a sixteen year old who hadn’t proven proficiency yet in much other than making crossword puzzles that those born after the occurrence could solve with some difficulty and piecing together old puzzles from a New York Times compilation that those born before couldn’t solve, but reminded them of how things used to be, when difficulties were on paper and didn’t really mean anything stood in front of Abigail, sitting sideways in a large wing-back salvaged from a casino lobby years before, and Scout, who rarely sat and was pacing small circles at the edge of the room, eyes shifting back and forth from the door to Marcus. Abigail read the message and handed it to Scout.
Crawling into bed, showered and in loose shorts…
My body cool against your toasty warmth…
Kissing your neck as my hands run rampant,up and down…
“I’ve never seen messages like these before,” the operator told Abigail and Scout.
“It’s not your job to understand them,” said Abigail. “Just write them down and bring them to one of us.”
“Yes, commissioner. It just seemed a little weird. Plus, we haven’t had anything in six weeks and there’s no signature letting us know who sent it.”
“That’s our job to figure that out. How do you know we haven’t received anything in six weeks?”
The operator paused and Scout noticed his Adam's apple rise and fall in a gulp.
“I won’t tell anyone about the messages,’ he stammered.
“Never mind. I know all you operators talk with one another. I guess we need to schedule a reorientation for all of you.” She turned her head. “What do you think, Scout? Can you put together a program that will reinforce the proper procedures?”
“I’m sure I can come up with something.”
“No.” The operator's reaction was abrupt and louder than he had intended. “I mean, you don’t need to do that. I’ll make sure to get word around to ….” For the second time in a minute, the operator realized his mistake.
“You mean all the operators you are not supposed to know the identity of,” Abigail asked. Before he could open his mouth, she finished with him, “You can go. We’ll be in touch before your next assignment.
“Yes, commissioner.” He glanced at Scout and she saw the gulp again before he turned and walked quickly from the room. The women waited a moment for his footsteps to fade away before speaking.
“It’s from him, isn’t it, Scout?”
“It is.”
“Why didn’t he use his signature? Is it a distress call?”
“That is his signature. He knows we will know it’s him.”
Abigail looked at Scout. She was three years younger and the youngest ever to be elected commissioner, but there was a reason for that: she knew how to read faces and even a blank-faced Scout wasn’t able to suppress everything. “Do you mean he knows YOU will know it’s him?”
“That’s probably more accurate,” Scout admitted. “He’s an ass.” Abigail smiled. Scout rarely got animated, but he brought it out in her and it was amusing to those who noticed. Nobody was brave enough to bring it up though except for a few within a circle that had been created in the field and under fire.
“Will there be more? You seem to know him the best.” She didn’t bother to let the smile fall. She had earned her way into the circle three years before on a trip through The Valley.
Scout sighed, “Oh, yeah. There’ll be more.”
“You have authority to deal with these messages as you see fit,” Abigail said. “You can bring them to me or not. We can talk at the next council on Wednesday and you can update me.”
Scout turned without response and walked towards the door, but before she could exit, “Scout, do me a favor.” She turned and looked back at Abigail. “If they’re good, make me a copy of all the messages when they …. reach their conclusion.”
“Fuck you, Abigail.”
“Hey, don’t threaten me with a good time and then walk away.” Scout couldn’t help let a smile crack her face a bit even if Abigail might have been the only one able to see it.
The plan was to replace the operators rather than “re-orient” them as there was no time for that and, the truth was, they were all going to find out who the other ones were and they were going to talk. It felt like harmless excitement in a community where excitement usually meant danger and the coded words were an irresistible bit of gossip to spread around.The next burst came in the next day and the operator, a young woman who didn’t say an unnecessary word brought it directly to Abigail, ignoring the existence of the other operators and citizens who looked expectantly at her as she hurried along the breezeways and halls to the Commision Room.
You press against me and feel the anticipation that has been building since I left…
I pull your top off…
Impatient to reach more of your skin with my mouth…
Abigail waved off the operator upon presentment. “Take that to Scout. She can deal with it.” She gave the same directions the next three days.
Holding your breasts…
Rolling you gently between my fingers…
Nibbling on your shoulders…then biting…
I kiss down your back…
My lips trace your shoulder blades, your spine…
To the small, kissing the crease…
My hands trailing…exploring
Discovering…
Claiming…
When Scout read the third one, she laughed “Claiming? Ha.” The operator raised an eyebrow. “It’s code for something that’s never going to happen,” she said quickly and dismissed them with a nod of her head. As her face warmed though, she wondered if they had noticed the blush spread across her cheek.
The messages continued for ten more days, the bursts consistent. Scout tried not to anticipate anything just as she never tried to anticipate anything good happening. Plus, she couldn’t figure out how she felt about the messages, but she found herself looking at the door anytime someone walked in and could feel her heart slow when it wasn’t one of the operators bringing that day’s missive. She started taking more watches from the tower, scanning the sparse landscape for movement, imagining how she would feel when she saw him; if she saw him. Maybe Abigail was onto something and this was a distress call and she was wasting time sitting around waiting for him to show. No matter how she felt, they could use him around and she feared their past was making her miss something in the communication.
The messages were building to a climax. He had always been good with his mouth and his words, so she became more comfortable it was him and everything was copacetic; he was definitely sending her a message and, if there had been trouble, there were some specific things he could have thrown in that would have tipped her off to trouble, things no one else would know.
Releasing you, reluctantly, and climbing your body…
Kissing the paths my hands made earlier, rising to your
chest, your neck, your cheek, your ear…
Growling now, my turn.
She read the messages over and over that night, knowing that that had been the last one in the series and that either would be there tomorrow or there would be another set of messages in a few weeks which could be in the same vein or could be about what the contingent was finding on their expedition. She pretended to herself and anyone who asked that it didn’t matter which was true. Only Abigail didn’t believe her.
The next day, on the tower, she raised her visor as the sun had hidden behind a rare cloud and she took the opportunity to feel the air on her face in the sudden cool. Even so, she could feel the burn of the residual radiation beyond the familiar warmth. Jones continued to assure them that the only danger was slow-burn skin damage which they all had already, but even that didn’t matter. She needed to feel the heat on her without the shade of the glass in between and the intervention of the cloud was bad enough, but safer. “Safer,” she scoffed. “There’s nothing safer here.”
As the temperature rose again, she stole a glance at the sliver of the sun just peeking from the edge of the puff, pulled the visor down, and lowered her gaze to the horizon. A dust cloud had been approaching for a few minutes and it was now close enough to see the cause. A black Chevy cargo van neared, the solar panels glinting in the sun, pulling a Victorian style building behind, one of the tiny houses on wheels that had been the rage fifty years ago. She couldn’t help but wonder at the ridiculousness of the scene and started to climb down so she could be standing just so when he pulled up.
She felt her heart jump a little when the vehicle stopped and she could see the shaded figure behind the wheel looking at her. “That same damn crooked smile,” she thought as she smoothed down the fabric over her stomach and immediately hated herself for it. “Bastard never should’ve left. It was my turn to go,” was her next thought. “He’s not going to see what’s under here anyway.” His smile got bigger, seemingly in response as though he knew what she was thinking and that they both knew it was a lie.
He opened the door and stepped out of the van, his head above the door frame while he stood behind it, protecting himself for a moment. The smile was still there, but his actions showed wariness. His mouth was exposed. He had never liked the full visor, claiming it impeded his peripheral vision though it had never bothered hers on the excursions they had gone on together. He would admit she was a better shot than he, face shield and all, but would point out he was much less proliferate with the ammo. “One in the head is as good as two,” he said.
“Not as good as four though,” she always replied.
He closed the door and stood there for a moment, his head never moving though she felt sure his eyes were assessing her behind his shades. “That’s right. Eat it up,” she said to herself.
He finally spoke. “You look good, Scout.”
“I know. I have a mirror,”She replied.
His smile grew. “Dammit,” she thought. “Bastard should be on his knees.”
He walked towards her and took off his glasses, wincing at the sudden light. He held out his right hand. There was a small box on the black, leather glove. “I’m not even going to pretend, Scout. I missed you.”
They stood for an instant, the atmosphere suddenly clearing and pressing down on them alone, hands on their chests and backs, pushing them towards and away from each other with the result of them being frozen in place. Suddenly, the blood left her head and she took a step towards him as his arms opened and he leaned in, the momentum of their bodies helping the power of the punch which she delivered straight to that big, stupid grin.
